


A Rude Hope

by Exxact



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope
Genre: Canon Era, Canon-Typical Homophobia, F/F, Minor Internalized Homophobia, Pre-Canon, in a fashion, star wars femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 17:10:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10667103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exxact/pseuds/Exxact
Summary: "Veronica finds herself staring again, a much less confusing version of how she spent lunch.  Leia is pretty and their features are kind of similar, so it’s probably just a case of wishing she looked like her, rather than outright ogling.  But who would want to wear their hair like that?  Admittedly, her lipstick is nice, though.  Almost the same shade as—"Veronica and Martha rent a favorite movie with a happy ending.





	A Rude Hope

Heather Chandler is probably a psychopath, if the definition in Veronica’s Psych 101 textbook can be trusted (it probably can’t). But Veronica, like the rest of Westerberg High and the tri-county area, can’t take her eyes off of her. _Struck_ , her father would call it, like the world-weary detectives in his mystery novels spotting the women who end up being their true love and demise in one. _Burdened with the ancient worship of lust._

 

Veronica’s been staring blankly at her for the past few minutes over Martha’s left shoulder, registering this without the shame that should accompany it. She looks the same as she always does—red blazer, blonde hair swept artfully back from features more devastating than anyone in rural Ohio should be blessed with. The other Heathers bracket her as always, pale copies of one another, as shallow as their pastel reflections. Veronica isn’t sure how she does it, but Heather Chandler manages to defy their pretty-bitch mold, marching straight past the sameness of their names and into individuality. There’s intelligence in her eyes, surety in her voice, determination in her every movement.

 

Heather Chandler is terrible, of course, but damn, is she hard to stop staring at.

 

Or thinking about.

 

In the end, Veronica decides that she probably looks like a total mouthbreather gawking at a girl she’s seen nearly every day since kindergarten and turns her attention towards more pressing matters.

 

“My mom rented _A New Hope_ for us again!” Martha declares triumphantly between bites of her cheese sandwich. “Tonight’s going to be great, especially after that gross Pre-Calc test.”

 

Veronica smiles, a wave of anticipation probably not proportional to seeing a rental that’s been out for years now washing over her. She’s come to love all of the _Star Wars_ movies since Martha first introduced her to them in a marathon last Thanksgiving break. While she doesn’t collect action figures like Martha’s older brother does, her breath still hitches with the desire to bring them up in conversation whenever she spots Trevor or Aaron in their _Empire Strikes Back_ poster shirts. She’s learned from eavesdropping on them and the guys at the 7-11 that their favorite of the three movies isn’t the _right_ favorite movie to have, but neither she nor Martha cares. They’re all gross anyways, calling Luke a fag just because he didn’t get a girl by _Return of the Jedi_ or straight-up fuck Leia regardless of them being twins.

 

“Creeps,” Veronica always mutters. “Luke’s so far beyond them. He wouldn’t even bother to kick their stupid asses. And Leia would just choke them out.”

 

“He’s my favorite,” Martha always replies under her breath, clutching her notebooks tighter while Veronica manages to shoehorn Han into whatever direction her focus is moving towards, conjuring up images of Leia strangling Ram or Kurt (or, ideally, both) while she argues that wielding a blaster is way more efficient than the Force, so it’s no wonder that Leia didn’t want to become a Jedi.

 

Veronica looks back over at Heather in the seconds before the lunch bell rings. She’s sipping a Diet Coke, rolling her eyes at Duke’s laughter. She’s probably never seen _A New Hope_ , Veronica thinks, or maybe had it playing in the background while some college guy whipped out his dick for her to suck.

 

Either way, just like Veronica, it means nothing to her.

 

 

+

“Do you think the Heathers have sleepovers like us plebeians?”

 

“No way,” Martha replies once she’s swallowed her chocolate milk. “I bet they’re too busy going to college parties and Tim says that nobody in college does sleepovers. They probably go with Kurt and Ram too. This sounds silly, but I think that Heather C. and Ram might—“

 

“This is way better than puking up shitty beer,” Veronica interrupts because she can’t bear to imagine Ram’s hand under Heather’s skirt, groping upwards towards her panties. Regret immediately fills her when Martha agrees meekly, both of them turning back to the movie while Veronica slips another slice of pizza onto her plate.

 

Veronica suspects that Martha mostly likes _A New Hope_ because of the drawn-out scenes of Luke on Tattooine that don’t include Yoda (“ _His eyes_ ,” Martha had winced, shuddering into her strawberry-print sweater. “ _So dead inside_ ”). After all, she never cares about how long it takes them to get back into the real action, the whizzing ships and blaster bolts, silently watching Luke attempt to reach Old Ben’s shack while Veronica struggles to avoid jiggling her foot under the covers, stuffing down another mouthful of chips.

  
  
She’s impatient for Han and the cantina, she decides as the fading blue-raspberry blur of Leia appears in full, her reflected expression in the TV screen just as captivated as Luke’s. Anticipating seeing Leia for more than the cool Alderaan explosion would be weird, after all. Han’s the best part of their shared scenes, his quips and Chewie’s roars overshadowing the angry, ungrateful princess.

 

Leia is brought onto the screen by Vader as if on cue, her breasts bobbing while she tells off her captors. Veronica finds herself staring again, a much less confusing version of how she spent lunch. Leia is pretty and their features are kind of similar, so it’s probably just a case of wishing she looked like her, rather than outright ogling. But who would _want_ to wear their hair like that? Admittedly, her lipstick is nice, though. Almost the same shade as—

 

Veronica’s mind darts immediately back to Heather, thinking of the sharp curves underneath her blouses before shrugging the thought away. She’s not _like that_ , doesn’t want anything to do with flannels or shaved heads or combat boots. No, she’s just hooked on the Heathers like the rest of Westerberg High, and maybe, just sometimes, that curiosity slips too far into wondering what Heather sees when she strips for her shower, into wanting to watch as Heather sets her hair, her weight warm in Veronica’s lap.

 

She’s not attracted to Leia or Heather, not really. She’s just captivated by them, admiring them like how her mom had obsessed over Princess Di’s wedding and bought that commemorative doll. And if she focuses too closely on the way Leia’s breasts bounce while she celebrates in the garbage chute, well, she does still think Han is hot, so it’s not any weirder than Martha admitting that she wanted to kiss un-masked Vader after watching _Return of the Jedi_ that one time. _Hormones are crazy_ , she tells herself while she lounges back on her pillow, pleasantly overfull with pizza and half of a large bag of M&Ms. Feeling a thrill from picturing Heather kissing her cheek for luck is probably the _least_ weird thing any of her classmates think about on a Friday night.

 

  
And maybe, just on nights like these, lying down with Martha already asleep beside her, Veronica imagines herself in Han’s place, swooping back in to save Luke, knowing that he’ll have Leia’s begrudging admiration if he survives this. She has goosebumps when Leia hugs him, thinking of the soft press of her body, of being the unlikely hero that _actually_ saves the princess, even if she only bothers to be grateful once she’s back in full makeup and presenting him with a medal, her smile sparkling with the growing attraction that neither one is allowed to face before the crowd’s applause erupts and Veronica falls asleep.

 

  
+

Heather is _fuming_. Stupid fucking cheese Corn Nuts make her constipated. They both _know_ that, and they bought them anyways! She’s never letting those two save her ass again. Why can’t anyone around her just get things right _for once_ so that she can have a relaxing night in?

 

“God, and _Star Wars_?” Heather groans, tossing the 7-11 bag across her room, hands on her hips. “Isn’t that what you caught Dumptruck’s brother jacking it to in the AV room last year?”

 

“I don’t know! I just got it because the rental guy said they didn’t have _Can’t Buy Me Love_ and I was not renting _Mannequin_ again, Heather! God, that movie’s so stupid!”

 

“It’s not stupid!” A yellow scrunchie falls by her foot, missing its projectile by a wide margin.

 

“Wrong Heather, Heather!” she shouts, chucking it back towards its owner’s nest of blankets before snatching up the snack bag again. “Heather’s right, though. That movie is fucking lame.”

 

“Whatever, Heather. Hey, look at the cover! I spy some sexy man meat you’d go after!”

 

“Ew, he’s old!” the pile of blankets crows, groping her hand around until Heather tosses her her Skittles. “What the fuck? The guy next to him is pretty cute, though.”

 

“Ha! He kinda looks like that crazy guy you hooked up with last weekend. The one with the nose?”

 

“Shut up! Ben was not that old, gross! And he was totally cute! Even if he did pass out in that snowbank…”

  
Heather dodges a Skittle meant for the cackling idiot behind her, rolling her eyes at Heather’s ever-shitty aim. She pops open her Diet Coke, tunes out the war erupting on either side of her, and lets the opening crawl roll.

 


End file.
